a stranger to myself

I woke up in a hospital, my head pounding, five years of my life a blank.

The last thing I remembered, I was a free-spirited 21-year-old artist, alive and vibrant.

Instead, my best friend Chloe told me I was 26, married to a man I didn't know: Ethan Hayes.

A cold, impeccably dressed stranger who barely acknowledged my existence.

This nightmare marriage had erased me: my art, my motorcycle, even the phoenix tattoo on my back—all gone.

My husband publicly denied me, flaunted an affair, and when I desperately needed him, he was "too busy."

I lost our baby—a life extinguished by his chilling neglect.

Then came the ultimate betrayal: I, the rebellious artist, had been obsessed with him, forcing this very marriage, trapping us both.